Those Prison Blues
by Mahiri Chuma
Summary: "There are only guilty men in Sing Sing, Tony." The team goes undercover in Sing Sing Prison to unearth a most dangerous conspiracy. Team-Friendship-Fic; PoppaGibbs; Tiva ON HIATUS
1. When the Man Comes Around

Those Prison Blues  
**By:** Mahiri Chuma  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything NCIS related – though I really wish I did, and *if* I did, oh the whumpage there would be!

**Summary:** "There are only guilty men in Sing Sing, Tony." The team goes undercover in Sing Sing Prison to unearth a most dangerous conspiracy. Team-Friendship-Fic; PoppaGibbs; Tiva  
**A/N:** I wanted to work with Folsom Prison but honestly didn't want to deal with the horrible NCIS LA spin off team. I tried to like it, I did, but I'm a true Team Gibbs fan. So instead let's set the stage in the empire state.

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Those Prison Blues  
Chapter One: When the Man Comes Around

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The corrections officer moved down the long aisle between the mass of identical prison cells to the chorus of angry shouts, a plethora of creative and innovative threats and the occasional sexual advance.

If this immense and strange cacophony wasn't the anti-mood music, the true opposite of ambience, he didn't know what was.

"Mail call, gentlemen!" He shouted above the noise. He was rewarded with whistles and hoots as he dug his hand into the cart in front of him, pulling out the already opened letters, packages and dog-eared postcards. The inmate's mail was thoroughly examined before delivery and many a great thing had been confiscated from several packages, much to the chagrin of their recipients.

He passed the packages and letters through the bars of the cells, reciting names as he went along the row and avoiding the occasional grab. Usually the inmates were better behaved with their CO's but he was new; they were doing their best to intimidate him.

The fresh-meat CO stopped in front of Cell #42 and produced a small parcel from the cart.

"DeMarco, mail call!" The CO peered into the cell and watched as the man stretched out his long legs and very lazily made his way to the small cells entrance.

Two lean arms came forward, resting on the cells gate, not yet accepting the package.

"Dead man walking, we've got a dead man walking," the man said in a voice lower than his true own. A fellow prisoner chuckled from across the row.

"Package, DeMarco." The CO offered hoping to keep the conversation decently short and spare himself unwarranted ridicule from the man in front of him.

"What? No 'hello, how is your day?" the CO resisted the urge to roll his eyes and lifted the package in the air.

"Take it or leave it, DeMarco." The man tilted his head to the side and smiled, acting as if they were about to exchange further pleasantries.

"My days going fine, thanks," the CO sighed but was forced to stand and listen knowing who couldn't actually just not deliver the package. He knew the other man was aware of this fact as well and was making him, effectively, a prisoner of his ramblings.

"The morning started alright, avoided being shanked, you know how it is, and then I spent some time contemplating my next tattoo, what do you think, "Thug Life" on my knuckles," he raised his hands in the air as to display the sight to be inked, "or should I just get it out there and plant a big 'Fudge the Police' on my forehead, of course it won't say fudge but I don't want to hurt those virgin ears of yours."

The CO dug a hand into his cart and pulled out a thin envelope, turning away from the chatty prisoner.

"Kane, mail call." He handed the envelopes to the man across from his verbal captives cell.

"But then the day took a turn for the worst, I just can't seem to find, and believe me I've tried, my poor Mr. Jingles, have you seen him Timmy?"

The man waggled his eyebrows, having caught the CO's attention. Another laugh sounded from across the row.

"DeMarco, you are one crazy son of a bitch!" said Kane, reaching his arms beyond the gate in a relaxed position.

"Sit down, Kane." The CO turned around pointing to the cot. He again offered the parcel to DeMarco and was finally relieved of it.

"I really need to see someone about helping me locate poor, lost, cold and probably scared Mr. Jingles."

Why Gibbs had allowed him to choose the trigger phrases was completely beyond him. They were asking for it if they gave the man this much leeway.

But then again, it was him putting his ass on the line undercover in a prison. He deserved some say, he supposed.

DeMarco looked at him expectantly, "Mr Jingles?"

Tim shook his head.

"Sorry, DeMarco." He gave him a glance before moving on and finished their unique call and response, "but I'll let the warden know we have a rat on our hands."

"A mouse, Timmy! Mr. Jingles is a mouse!" he shouted as the man retreated, handing out mail to the rest of the inmates. DeMarco turned the package over in his hands, giving it a brief shake before tearing at the package.

"Whatddya got over there, Big T?" Kane said, more interested in the other man's mail than in his own.

Big T, or Tony as he occasionally preferred, tugged at his uncomfortable, blue prison top. Before his time in prison he had always thought all prisoners wore the trademark orange jumpsuit. He had been looking forward to it, always believing he looked great in electric orange. So, it's only natural that he was filled with disappointment when he was given his new, boring, blue digs.

He pulled out a letter and scanned it briefly with a smile.

_Dearest Hairy Bear,_

_I hope they are treating you well. _

_I've sent you a harmonica, you were always so good and I can just see you now, playing like you did before._

_I will be visiting you soon._

_Love, your Sweetcheeks_

_P.S. Bert says hello._

Tony grinned and put the letter down on his cot. He reached further into the package and pulled out a silver blues harmonica.

… _and I can just see you now …_

He put the harmonica down on the small, wooden shelf that stuck out from the cement wall. He pushed it slightly to the right, ensuring it was well positioned.

"Ha! I can tell by the smile. It's from a woman!" Tony turned towards the man across the row.

"Hey, a gentlemen never tells, Kane." The other man grinned and pointed a finger at Tony.

"Brother, you've already said enough. That's some shit right there, T. All I get is junk mail and a letter from the old lady."

Tony chuckled and stretched before lying down on his incredibly uncomfortable cot. He gave one final glance at the harmonica

"Well, Kane, it's better than getting letters from the old man, the guy's a real bastard."

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Leroy Jethro Gibbs took a sip of his very black coffee and watched as his agent put the camera in place. The sound quality was incredibly clear but the picture was somewhat grainy and suffered a 5-second delay.

"Well, Kane, it's better than getting letters from the old man, the guy's a real bastard."

Gibbs smirked and even allowed a small exhale of breath that could have passed for a laugh.

"You got that right DiNozzo."

The door behind him creaked, opening up to reveal the newest Sing Sing CO.

"That was good work, McGee."

McGee loosened his tie and removed the earwig that was suffering from interference; the ringing in his ear becoming increasingly irritating.

"Uh – thanks, Boss. Did you hear what …"

"Yep. DiNozzo came in loud and clear. You'll pull him out tonight, got it McGee?"

"How should I –" Gibbs cut off the younger agent once again.

"I don't know, McGee. You and Tony will figure something out."

"Right." McGee sat down and observed the feed for a moment, watching as Tony wagged his feet back and forth to a song he was currently humming. What the tune was, he had no clue.

"Ziva come up with anything, Boss?" Gibbs took a seat next to Tim whilst taking another long sip from the cardboard cup. He put the offensive cup down and resisted a grimace. They sure had some awful stuff in Sing Sing.

"She has a couple of hits on a few of the CO's, nothing concrete yet. She's coming in tomorrow to give DiNozzo a little visit."

"Boss?" McGee turned toward Gibbs, unaware that Ziva was to be playing a more active role in their operation.

"Ziva will be working to gain the trust of some of the target CO's." McGee nodded knowing that most of the CO's were in fact male and that he lack of estrogen in the facility meant Ziva's presence was like candy to a kid. There was one problem however…

"But Ziva is DeMarco's loving wife …" He thought back to the letter and package they had prepared. Tony's fellow inmates had gotten a kick out of her sometimes-suggestive letters. Only Tony knew what was behind the occasional innuendoes.

"Never said she was faithful, McGee."

"Does Vance know?" McGee knew Vance wasn't a fan of their occasional stints and escapades.

"Yep, it was his idea."

McGee let out a surprised 'huh' and turned back towards the screen. He tilted his head, unable to make out what Tony was doing, his head coming into view every few seconds before disappearing again.

'I can't believe this, he's doing sit ups."

The ends of Gibbs lips quirked slightly. Tony had always been quite good at assuming roles when undercover. Too good, at times.

"He sure is handling this better than the last time he was in this situation." Gibbs thought for a moment back to when Tony had been accused of chopping a woman's legs off. He would never forget the man's revealing two-sided monologue.

"Of course, last time he was facing life in prison and, well, I guess it was different."

"You think, McGee?" Despite the fact that he wasn't actually facing 'real' jail time, Gibbs still worried about his agent, though he would never admit it. He did know, however, that if someone could get this job done, it was Tony.

Gibbs thoughts on Tony were interrupted when his phone buzzed lightly in his pocket.

"Gibbs."

"How's the Big Apple, my silver haired fox!"

"You have anything for me Abs?"

"You mean you didn't do the tourist thing? Didn't see lady liberty herself? Didn't go to the Soup Man's –"

Gibbs sighed and glanced over at the small monitor as Tony switched to push-ups.

"Abs…"

He heard a sigh and what sounded like CaffPow being sipped threw a straw.

"Right. I checked out those prints you sent me from the dead CO's house annnd –" she drew out the word hoping to give the phone conversation the Abby touch.

"What Abs?"

"-annd nothing, the prints match both his wife and son."

McGee looked over as Gibbs sighed in slight frustration as Abby's voice grew louder through the earpiece.

"But there's always a but, Gibbs! The dead CO's prints turned up in our Navy inmates house! Our Navy boy didn't visit our CO but the CO visited our Navy boy!"

"Thanks Abs." Gibbs hung up and stood to retrieve the file of David Hawks, a current Sing Sing inmate imprisoned for smuggling massive amounts of heroine on his assigned carrier. His imprisonment set off a whole slew of events; like some sort of a chain reaction. They seemed to have stumbled upon something deeper and it became apparent that Sing Sing was in the throes of an internal uproar.

And now a dead Sing Sing CO was being connected to the former corpsman and NCIS needed to find out how, why and who. The what and the when were slightly less important.

He tossed the file into McGee's lap.

"Boss? I've been through this already …"

"So, go through it again, Mc –" his phone rang once more.

"Gibbs." From the shrill shout of annoyance, McGee identified the caller as Abby.

"You hung up on me! I wasn't finished!"

"So finish, Abs."

"Did Tony get my hello?"

McGee leaned back and shouted over his shoulder.

"You mean the one from Bert, Abby?"

"That's the one!"

"I'm sure he did Abs, anything else?" Gibbs listened as she took another long sip from her dangerously caffeinated beverage.

"Hmm, nope! That's it!"

Gibbs hung up once more and shook his head. Even over the phone Abby was still very much so, Abby.

"Let me know when you're through with that, McGee." McGee turned around, watching as the older man began to make his way out the door.

"Boss? Where you going?"

"To have a chat with the warden."

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Tony was bored. Very, very bored. Now he understood where the phrase "like a prison" came from. He had finished his workout regimen and was currently hunched over his blanket picking out the stray strands of thread.

Maybe next he would straighten the lint floating around on the floor or clean the prison bars with his toothbrush. The possibilities were endless.

He lay back and closed his eyes for a moment, attempting to fight back the headache that was forming in his temple. Prison was surprisingly loud. Not that he had expected it to be church-like in its quietness, but each day was riddled with shouted conversations, the sounds of verbal and physical confrontation and the cries of hysteria.

During the night it was hardly any better. The night brought the sounds of nightmares and nightmares brought out the worst in people.

He rubbed his temples and sighed. There was no point in complaining really; he had a list of things he didn't like as long as D-block and they weren't going to get any better.

"DeMarco!" Tony shot to a sitting position, startled by the shouting of his alias. His eyes narrowed, his wonderful CO was back.

"Geez, Timmy. You really shouldn't sneak up on a man in prison like that." he said putting emphasis on the "in prison" part.

"It's Officer McGregor, DeMarco." Tim tapped his badge and looked as though he were an actual, seriously annoyed CO.

"Alrighty, McGoo. What can I do for you on this fine afternoon?" Tony watched as McGee's eyes settled into a glare and he put a hand on his holstered gun.

"It's your lucky day, DeMarco, you're going out for highway garbage duty."

There was an awkward silence as Tony regarded McGee. He was about to order the faux-inmate when Tony clapped nearly causing McGee to jump.

"Well, looks like I'll get to work on my tan!" McGee signaled the block guard to release the prison bars.

"Number 42!" With a buzz and a heavy sounding click, the door rolled open and Tony began to exit the cell.

"Turn around, DeMarco." Tony sighed, giving McGee a pointed look before turning his back to his fellow undercover agent.

Tony grimaced as the cuffs clamped down tightly on his wrists and McGee pulled on his shoulder to turn him around.

"After you, DeMarco. Ladies first." Men in the cells around them hooted and hollered and Tony gave McGee a look that promised pain and death as soon as this was done with.

"Well, get moving inmate."

A slow and painful death.

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"Garbage duty, probie? Garbage duty?" Tony and McGee entered their make-shift MTAC and Tony turned to have his hand cuffs removed.

"Of all the things we could have done … garbage duty? We could have staged a riot or –"

"Tony, this isn't a movie." McGee said as he pulled his keys from his belt to undo the handcuffs.

"But man, it should be." Tony had that twinkle in his eye, the one that preceded his film associated rants, "Shawshank Redemption, 1994. Probie, you're going to help me fashion a tunnel in the wall …"

Tony's head jerked forward and he yelped, taken by surprise as an unseen hand smacked the back of his head.

"Hey, Boss."

"You're not a real criminal, DiNozzo."

"Yeah, well tell McGregor here he's not a real CO." DiNozzo rubbed his wrists acting as though they were terribly chafed by his short imprisonment.

Gibbs glanced at the man, taking in his appearance. He looked all right, albeit a bit stiff and thus seemed to be suffering from nothing but an uncomfortable bed and the anxiety that came from being surrounded by convicted felons. Yes, nothing but …

"DiNozzo," His voice was lighter, ready to listen to his agent and relieved that he was doing all right. Even though McGee and Gibbs spent most their time within the confines of Sing Sing, he was concerned about his agents well being. "What do you have for me?"

Tony's eyes lit up at the question. This was what he was good at. This is what he lived for.

With a grin, barely contained excitement and his best Bob Gunton impression he muttered:

"This is a conspiracy, that's what it is. One…big... damn conspiracy."

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There we are. I always thought this would be a fun situation to put the gang in. I thought of it before 'Chained' even appeared so I'd like to say there is **some** originality, of course Kate originally was involved but I want to stick closer to the present.

I guess I also need to say I don't own the Green Mile and Mr. Jingles or the Shawshank Redemption. If you haven't seen either of these movies go out and rent them.

My most recent chapter of Rookie Mistakes is ¾ done and I couldn't continue until I got this out of the way! That said RM will be updated by Saturday. I hope you enjoyed and as always, please review! Ziva will be making her appearance next chapter and McGee and Tony have a lot of work to do.


	2. Solitary Man

Those Prison Blues  
**By:** Mahiri Chuma  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything NCIS related – though I really wish I did, and *if* I did, oh the whumpage there would be!

**Summary:** "There are only guilty men in Sing Sing, Tony." The team goes undercover in Sing Sing Prison to unearth a most dangerous conspiracy. Team-Friendship-Fic; PoppaGibbs; Tiva

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Those Prison Blues  
Chapter Two: Solitary Man

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Tony's head was pounding. The kind of pounding where no amount of pressure or massaging of the temple helped; the kind born of stress and exhaustion; the kind that sent your balance a kilter and forced you to squint as if the small movement would make the headache less terrible.

The night had been a long one and he was edging on his fourth day without proper rest. One thing he had learned during his short faux incarceration was that men in prison did not sleep. They tossed and turned, shouted and screamed, laughed maniacally and threatened each other, but they did not sleep.

As he listened to the early morning rumblings of the cellblock he thought about the previous day's conversation.

One big damn conspiracy. That's exactly what this was. He had taken note of many of the prison gangs' dealings in relation to the CO's own and had come up with one clear connection. One of the gangs seemed to have a membership when it came to spending time in solitary. There would always be some sort of altercation, usually mundane and warranting no more than a day in confinement, sometimes it was a cell extraction and other days it was an innocent yard shanking. Either way, in Tony's eyes, there was a pattern blossoming.

Tony stretched and made his way to the barred gate. Though he couldn't see down the corridor he stuck his long arms out and tilted his head, listening to the activity down the block.

Giuseppe Delicate. A Manhattan gangman. Too smart to be spending the amount of time he did in solitary.

As Tony picked up the low mutterings of Delicate, he thought of the possibilities. There were a few reasons men ended up in solitary.

One. They wanted protection, to get away from the general population. These men were scared and would do anything to get away; for them seclusion was better than socialization.

Two. They were stupid or crazy. They did dumb things, attacked the wrong people, attacked guards and found themselves in solitary over and over again.

And three. They wanted to be in solitary. They didn't want protection. No, they wanted something else. They wanted to "talk", they wanted to snitch, they wanted to make a deal …

Tony nodded to a CO as he walked by, this particular man unaware of his status fingered his baton and gave him a charming, 'I won't hesitate to beat the tar out of you, inmate' look. He'd been getting a lot of those lately.

The hostile CO was Salem Rios. The CO banged his baton against an inmate's bars.

A real jackass.

Salem had been there every time Giuseppe or one of 'La Cosa Nostra's went down. He would rough them up and escort them to solitary or the parole office or wherever their destination seemed to be. A regular chauffeur.

Tony grinned. That's where McGee came in. He had to get close with the slimeball, see if he could get in on whatever dealings this guy might have with the La Cosa Nostra sect.

Tony glanced to the right as he listened to the CO pull Giuseppe from his cell.

"Delicate, to the front. Parole board wants to see you."

Tony's eyes narrowed. He was nearly chomping at the bit. He needed to get close to this guy. He had come to the prison "unaffiliated" – gangless. Unaffiliated inmates were easy pickings. They had no protection from other inmates or gangs, they weren't given the benefit of a gang's cooperation with certain guards. It was like being thrown into a den of wolves.

He could feel them eyeing him; some wanted to kill him, some wanted to test his boundaries and some wanted something far more sinister.

It would be quite the challenge, but to this point, he hadn't yet turned one down. He needed to become a La Cosa Nostra.

Corrections Officer Rios passed his cell with a smug looking Giuseppe. He and Tony made eye contact and Tony felt his stomach turn in excitement, a fire burning inside him, one that churned and raged when he knew he was about to do something very dangerous. He lived for his.

"Whad're you lookin' at, punk?" Tony held his gaze, the use of 'punk' not lost on him. He watched the man until the bars restricted his view.

Punk. In prison talk it didn't have the same meaning as it did on the outside. A punk was someone unaffiliated, someone weak, and someone who was subject to the more wicked desires of the other inmates.

Giuseppe had no idea who he was dealing with. As he had promised McGee and Gibbs, much to his Boss' approval, he would be a La Cosa Nostra within a week.

"DeMarco! Clear the row."

Tony tucked his arms in and stood in front of the bars as he waited for McGee to make his approach.

"What can I do for you today, McBall-and-Chain?"

"Your visitation rights have gone through and it looks like someone cares." Tony turned his back to his fellow agent, presenting his wrists for the handcuffs, "Who would want to spend time in your vicinity is beyond me."

For show Tony pulled against the cuffs in response to the remark.

"You're just jealous I can get some behind bars when you're free as a bird and –"

McGee pushed Tony forward with a nudge of his baton.

"Do I need to give you a warning, _DeMarco?"_

Tony eyed the baton for a moment.

"Compensating for something, McGregor?"

"Move it, inmate!"

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DiNozzo straightened his jumpsuit as a more burly CO led him towards the small cove that was complete with bullet proof glass and a dirty looking phone that resembled a pay phone.

He waited a moment and was rewarded when a familiar face entered the room. Tony resisted the urge to allow his jaw to promptly drop. A stunning, familiar face …

Ziva sat down, a sly smirk on her exotic face. She crimped her hair, bolstering the luscious curls and straightened the pencil skirt as she took a seat. The rather revealing shirt only added to the woman's stunning appearance.

"Ziva." Tony said, forgetting momentarily to pick up the phone.

She grinned as she watched him mouth her name and picked up her end of the line. He cocked his head to the side with his own, wily expression and picked up the greasy phone.

"Hello, my little hairy butt."

"Ziva. You look … How's stripping treating you?" Her eyes alighted as her fiery attitude surged underneath her cover.

"My love, how many times do I have to remind you," she pouted, her bottom lip sticking out irresistibly, "I am an escort."

Tony snorted.

"Oh yes, right. How could I have forgotten." Tony had been more than pleased when he had heard what Gibbs had in store for Ziva. She was a strong woman, intimidating even, and she needed to appear non-threatening, almost simple, maybe a little money hungry. The CO's couldn't see her as anything but a conquest; they needed to lust her, let her get close without suspicion. They didn't need to think she could kill them with any item in the vicinity.

"When are they letting you out? I have been so lonely without you." _Who am I looking for, DiNozzo?_

"Even with all those men you escort, darling? I'm sure you could have your pick here, even." He said with feigned disgust as he gestured around, signaling one CO in particular. _There's your mark, Ziva. Work your magic._

She crossed her arms to fake an extremely convincing pout.

"You got yourself in here, Tony." She crossed and uncrossed her legs. Tony watched as she began to attract Salem's attention.

"Do not take it out on me." She placed a hand on her breast.

"I know, sweet cheeks. I just can't stop thinking about what we use to do together," he leaned in intimately, watching Salem from his peripheral, "the things we were going to do."

As Tony waggled his eyebrows suggestively, Salem looked over for a minute before turning his head forward once again. Bingo.

"I'm dying in here." _Go get 'em._

Ziva smiled, sighing in pleasure as she pretended to share a moment of nostalgia.

"I have a surprise waiting for you when you are out."

"Oh yeah?" Tony said, leaning back giving Salem plenty of room to observe their exchange.

"Yes, but you better get out on good behavior. I do not know if I can wait." She pushed her hair behind her ear and batted her eyes, looking over Tony's shoulder for a moment at the guard behind him.

She caught Salem's eye and blushed, acting as though she was merely embarrassed by their conversation. The chaperoning CO had complete access to their conversation and could hear every word via an earpiece, and though most visitors were unaware of this, Ziva certainly was aware of the intrusion.

"Don't worry, doll," Tony said leaning forward, "he can't hear you."

She blushed again. Tony smiled. He loved how Ziva could bring forth a faux blush, though he liked to think their impromptu flirting might have actually made her flush; fat chance, really.

"One minute, DiMarco." Salem said from behind, his voice unnecessarily loud.

"I'll be out soon, honey, I promise." He smiled.

"You better be, I do not think I can wait." She made a point to glance behind him at the towering CO.

She gingerly put the phone back on its receiver and blew a kiss before stalking away, her curves moving generously underneath her tight skirt.

"How many years you payin', DeMarco?"

Tony allowed himself a small grin before turning to the CO, his face and emotionless mask.

"Five to Eight."

With that Rios let out a loud laugh before signaling Tony to stand, securing his hands behind his back.

"I've met a lot of stupid men, DiMarco, but damn, you might be the dumbest sack of shit in this hole."

"We'll see, Rios." That earned him a good cuff to the back of the head as he was led back to his cell. He couldn't wait to see this man at the interrogation table.

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Tony stretched his lean body as he made his way outside. He was getting soft. He could feel it, after just a week he was getting soft. He wasn't permitted his morning run and though he tried, he found working out in his cell to be terribly monotonous.

He watched as the gangs, like high school cliques, sequestered themselves to their corners, some pumping iron, others huddled over a deck of cards.

Unaffiliated, he made his way to a lone bench to perform sit-ups. Without anyone to call an ally, the workout benches were untouchable. Despite this fact, he couldn't look as though he were lost and alone, he couldn't mope around aimlessly; he was already a target, he didn't need to cement the idea in any inmates mind, especially Giuseppe's.

He blew hot air into his hands and began his impromptu work out, nearly reveling in feeling the sweat begin to bead and trail down his neck and back. As he completed one rep and moved onto the next he kept an eye on Giuseppe.

The Italian was hunched forward talking to a shorter, squat man who waved his arms in an animated fashion. Tony recognized him to be Paolo Cardellio, the nephew of one of Manhattan's greatest crime bosses.

He glanced at the center of the yard, picking McGee out of the throng of jumpsuit-clad inmates.

He had to admit, McGee had come a long way. He watched the younger agent patrol the yard, looking for all intents and purposes like a bonafide CO. He walked like a CO and had already adopted the attitude; Tony had the chafed wrists to prove it. He talked like a CO and stood like a CO, his hand eternally resting on the baton. If Tony hadn't been a Special Agent he could have been fooled, the nuances were slight but they set him apart from the others. He was too observant, his eyes constantly searching in places CO's didn't tend to look and he handled his gun like a trained NCIS agent.

Tony would never admit it, but he was damn proud.

Tony had reached 200, muttering the number breathlessly as he sat up to move onto bench push-ups.

He continued his survey of the yard. A Latin King eyed him threateningly as he walked by, his ink in clear view; a display of who he was, his rank and who you were messing with should you cause trouble.

It was fascinating and the agent in Tony was giddy, soaking up the experience and intelligence this operation was bringing him. They were like animals, men in prison. They moved in packs, protected their territory, preyed on the weak and inked their bodies in a display not so different to a dangerous insect's own coloration. They sent a single message to anyone who looked: I'm dangerous.

Tony stood, acting as though he was finished for now, as Giuseppe moved from the bench and made his way to the center of the yard.

Giuseppe had a hand on Paolo's shoulder. Tony watched the man's lips move quickly and in a manner foreign to English speakers. He was speaking quietly in Italian.

He shadowed them from across the yard, feigning interest in the basketball game that was currently taking place between a few members of one of the Aryan gangs. He fingered the cigarettes in his pocket as he watched the men, appearing as though he was merely interested in some possible yard bartering. He didn't smoke but they sure came in handy as part of prison currency.

He narrowed his eyes as some sort of exchange occurred between the two men and now, a third party across the basketball court.

Tony's mind raced as he put the pieces together.

They were targeting someone, but whom?

Giuseppe nodded at Paolo, Paolo nodded at a man Tony thought could be Tommy, one of the lowest ranked men in La Cosa Nostra.

If a message was being conveyed to a low ranked member than that member was about to take a fall.

Tony's eyes scanned the area as he worked to figure out who was about to be assaulted, adrenaline beginning to rush through his system. It took all his power not to reach towards his Sig Sauer-less waist.

They were targeting someone and someone was going to take the fall for Giuseppe's plan. If it were a rival gang it would be a key player, someone who could send an effective message.

That left the COs. They were going to make a statement, a show of power, by attacking a CO.

Tony felt himself moving forward as he realized what was going on. McGee was just as vulnerable as himself. He was fresh meat. He was unaffiliated within the gangs. He was the target. A target that would send the message but not refuse them the benefits won with the relationship forged with other guards.

He briefly saw a fight break out to his right. Someone from La Cosa Nostra had just started something with an Aryan Brother; they were on the ground fighting. Men were shouting as the fight escalated. McGee was approaching with another guard and Tony could just make out Tommy coming up from behind.

Tony watched as Tommy pulled a small weapon from his waistband, the rusted metal catching his eye. He watched his arm pull back, ready to deliver a brutal, quiet attack.

With a tackle that would have done his Ohio State coach proud, he brought down both McGee and Tommy into a frantic heap, Tommy's free fist flying as he was taken by surprise.

Tommy pushed himself away from the two men, making his way through the crowd that had formed but had, in a twist of luck, provided cover for Tony's intervention.

McGee had his arm wrapped across his chest, his right hand grasping his left arm trying to hold in place the dirty looking weapon that had been stabbed painfully to the bone.

To those around them, it looked as though another fight had broken out and as Tony watched the thick rivulets of blood roll down McGee's arm with a small amount of relief. The Italian had been aiming for McGee's back. If he hadn't intervened it could have been far worse.

The men gathered around them parted as another Corrections Officer approached. Tony made eye contact with McGee and was rewarded with a stiff, pained nod, signaling he wasn't in imminent danger.

Tony nearly sighed in relief but stopped himself. He stood to move away from the scene as the other inmates scattered when he suddenly found himself on his back, stars exploding in front of his eyes and blood pouring from his nose.

He could vaguely hear the words 'Lockdown' blare through the yard loudspeakers as he collected himself.

What the hell just happened? He craned his neck upwards and spotted three COs, one helping McGee to his feet and the other two forcing the inmates on their stomachs in accordance to lockdown procedure.

He felt someone pull at his shirt, lifting him of the ground before promptly forcing him on his stomach, his already bloodied face being dug into the cement.

He coughed and sputtered, choking on the blood that was flowing down his throat.

"Stay down, DeMarco, this is lockdown."

He spied blood on the man's baton and realized what must have happened. The CO must have caught him with the baton, smashing it brutally into his face as he made what they must have thought to be his getaway.

He listened as guards shouted at the inmates to stay down, sirens blaring, announcing the imminent 24 hours of confinement.

He turned his head to his left, his cheek burning painfully having been scraped painfully across the ground, to search for McGee. He could see him being helped to his feet, his arms still clamped tightly around the wound.

As he watched he felt himself being lifted upwards once more, the familiar cold metal being slapped around his wrists as he was pushed forward.

"Move, inmate, move!" He could hardly see, one eye swollen and puffy and his head pounding from the sudden assault. As they moved he spotted Tommy and Giuseppe, both face down with their hands on their heads.

The guards thought he did it, Tony realized.

Tony's mind raced as he thought of the implications. This could work for them; he just had to keep a story straight; he would think of something. He had to think of something

As he was led into the building, his nose and face bleeding heavily and his body aching, he could only hope he hadn't completely blown his cover.

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Well, this was a very fun chapter to write. Poor McGee! Poor Tony! What do you expect? A couple hundred criminals vs. Tony and Tim? Something was bound to happen.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed that chapter. I find prison to be a fascinating thing, it is it's own, strange world. I can't say I've been or EVER want to go, but from a sociological standpoint, it's very interesting!

La Cosa Nostra was once a real Italian gang in NYC, meaning, "our thing" or "our cause." I believe it still exists within Mafia families but beyond the name, I haven't done too much research. Also, thank you MythsandLegends for correcting me, it is hairy butt, though I do like hairy bear!

Well, again, I appreciate your feedback and hope this chapter was to your liking, as I write to please! So, if you would be so kind, review, review, review!

Tak Tak!


	3. Rusty Cage

Those Prison Blues  
**By:** Mahiri Chuma  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything NCIS related – though I really wish I did, and *if* I did, oh the whumpage there would be!  
**A/N:** Hey ya'll, I'm here for another update. Just wanted to say my prayers go out to everyone in Haiti and I encourage you all to do whatever you can to help. Ensemble, nous pouvons faire une différence Allez! Il nous faut des bénévoles pour aider les peuple Haïtien - donnez votre argent, votre aide, votre prières …

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Those Prison Blues  
Chapter Three: Rusty Cage

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_Twenty-Four hours, only twenty-four hours._

Tony repeated the mantra in his head as he sat silently on the indescribably uncomfortable cot attached to the room's western wall. Solitary confinement was a terrible thing and that was a plain fact. The room was terribly cramped, the bed ending a hand length from the floor and the width of the room shorter than his arm span.

_Twenty-four hours._ He had once read that every man needed a mantra to repeat to himself if he wanted to survive in the world. This was his. He didn't expect the twenty-four hours to be terribly long but the fact that he was unable to inquire about his fellow agents health and receive updates from Gibbs was slightly maddening. Twenty-four hours in investigative time was equivalent to a week, as far as he was concerned.

It also didn't help much that he had a few childhood memories that involved himself and a few days locked in a closet or the DiNozzo wine cellar, something he tried very hard not to think about and something he would never, ever discuss with anyone.

He looked up at the small window that provided a miniscule amount of light, just barely enough to read by, and ran a hand through his hair. He reached up and scrubbed his face, scraping off the dried blood that caked his mouth and nose. If he thought he had a headache before he was sadly mistaken. The current throbbing in his temples, nose and jaw was a force to be reckoned with.

They hadn't offered him a stop at the medical bay and hadn't said so much as a word as they deposited him into the cell.

Inmates that caused this kind of trouble, that attacked COs weren't given much room to move, nor were they given the more ''civil' treatment given to those in the general population. But that was the point of solitary; break you down and give you the incentive to never do whatever you did again. It was seemingly a good idea in theory, but when it came down to it there was an 80% return rate.

If Tony was learning anything about the prison system it was that prison was even more of a giant, failed and corrupt mess than he thought it was, and he didn't think too highly of it before.

The thought brought him back to Giuseppe. Seeing that he hadn't yet been released he could only guess that his cover, amongst the guards at the very least, had not been blown … but, what about his fellow inmates?

Surely someone must have witnessed his intervention in the yard and if not, Tommy sure as hell did. He did tackle the man, after all.

However, the situation, should he play his cards right, could turn into the perfect way to get an in on Giuseppe's dealings. Giuseppe would undoubtedly confront him, something he had to be sure to watch out for, for at this point he couldn't know whether it would be verbal or physical, and when he did, Tony had to be prepared.

He would have to make it seem like he wanted to take the fall, that he wanted to make himself known to Giuseppe; he would make it work, he had to, he couldn't let Gibbs down.

He leaned backwards, resting his back on the small cot while keeping his feet on the ground. He was exhausted. He ached to the bone and his vision blurred uncomfortably with each small movement. He sniffed loudly, wincing as his swollen, broken nose began to throb as he attempted to breath though the inflamed airway. He licked his chapped, split lips, his mouth feeling terribly dry. Solitary provided its prisoners with a waterless toilet but no sink. Prisoners often rebelled by flooding their cells, forcing the guards to extract them, freeing them temporarily of their prisons and infuriating the staff.

He would kill for a bottle of water right about now and if not to drink at least to rinse his mouth and wash his face. He was grimy and itchy and as he lay there staring at the grey ceiling he could smell how funky his blue prison top was becoming. He ran his tongue along the backs of his teeth; at least he still had all of them, the baton to the face could have ended far worse.

As he worked his plan over and over again in his head, to the point of exhaustion, he allowed his mind to drift – in his experience, allowing one's mind to drift was never a good thing as the mind tended to go to dark places.

It started innocently as he replayed several movie scenes in his head, quoting them aloud as he picked at the ratty blanket.

"Rehabilitated?" He shouted, no doubt warranting the attention of the silent guard that he knew to be standing near his cell, "It's just a bullshit word. So you go on and stamp your form, sonny, and stop wasting my time. Because to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit."

He heard the sounds of feet shuffling outside his cell and allowed himself a grin. If they didn't think he was crazy before they sure did now. Unless, of course, they loved the art of cinema as much as he did and recognized his tribute to the Shawshank Redemption.

"This guy 's nuts." He heard the guard mutter.

After shouting a few more memorable quotes he quieted down, his mind seemingly without effort drifting from Tony Curtis of the Defiant Ones to Tony DiNozzo Sr. From there his mind took him on a trip down memory lane, from a hotel room in Maui to the faux Civil War battlegrounds, from the impromptu four hour limo drive around NYC – he would never understand how his father had continually forgot about him – to the entire day he spent in the cold wine cellar looking for the one-thousand dollar bottle of 1998 Chateau Petrus, a luxurious wine his father had forgotten he had imbibed a year prior.

He lay there for another three hours entertaining his demons and watching the beam of sunlight move slowly across the ceiling before vanishing completely, plunging the room into darkness.

_Only twenty-four hours… _

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McGee watched as Tony was hauled away, his face covered in an angry splash of red and disorientation clear in his eyes.

He lost sight of him as he was ushered from the yard by his 'colleagues', his arm burning as the rusty shrapnel moved around with each step. His arm was throbbing fiercely and he was hardly aware of the short trip to the medical wing and being told to take a seat in a plastic chair.

The metal had bit into him quickly before lodging itself in the bone. He had felt a terrible pain as he fell as the weapon jerked in his skin, widening the gash as it tore the flesh around the puncture.

He watched the Nurse Practitioner as she eyed the blade or screwdriver –whatever it was - testing it carefully before reaching over for a syringe of local anesthetic.

"When was your last tetanus booster?" She asked while she injected the cool liquid into his arm. He winced as the needle penetrated his skin uncomfortably close to the wound.

"Uh, two years ago. Yeah, two years." The nurse nodded as she disposed of the needle and took a seat across from him, waiting for the drug to take effect.

"This is your first incident?" It was more of a statement than a question. She smiled prettily at McGee as he sat stiffly trying his best to keep from disturbing the grimy looking weapon.

"Yes, it is." She nodded sympathetically, "But it's not the first time something like this has happened." He quickly corrected, something inside of him pushing him to impress her.

"Oh?" She touched his arm lightly and pulled back when the muscle twitched slightly; he needed another 5 minutes.

"You could say that I had more than a couple of run-ins at my previous job."

"Is that so?" She smiled but was unimpressed. She dealt with a handful of rather grim injuries each day, those that were far more serious than a yard shanking.

"Well, I don't know how you boys do it, especially after the incident with Officer Wright." Her face fell into a thoughtful frown before she moved to collect alcohol and gauze.

"Officer Wright?" McGee inquired. He ad heard the name once in passing but since then hadn't seen nor heard of the officer again.

"You don't know? You _must_ be new then." She paused for a moment as if contemplating whether to continue, "He had his throat cut on duty five months ago while working D Block. We lost four COs that month, they just couldn't take the stress."

McGee pondered the information and was somewhat shocked that he hadn't heard about this, neither from their case file nor his fellow COs. He was working D-Block, along with Tony, and hadn't heard a single word of an attack.

"I'm sorry to hear. What happened?" He pushed. The information could prove valuable if relevant to any proceedings in their case.

She tested the object in his arm and pulled on a new pair of gloves ready to remove the offending object.

"No nerve damage. It sure will hurt for a while." She muttered as she gripped the 'handle.' "An inmate approached him through the bars, Officer Wright didn't see the weapon. It was a piece of a mirror and a toothbrush. They can make a weapon out of anything in here. Ready? It's deep in there and you'll feel some pressure and pain."

McGee nodded, biting the inside of his cheek as he took a deep breath.

She wiggled the piece slightly before taking a firm grip and pulling hard. McGee forced himself not to flinch as he felt a pull against his bone. She was right, it was painful and he did his best to sit still.

She placed it on the supply table and smiled as she quickly wiped the blood away and began to clean the wound.

"You did well." McGee gave her a weak smile as he observed her gentile administrations.

"Who attacked the CO?" He continued hoping to procure more information, his voice tight with the throbbing pain as she made quick work of five stiches.

"An LCN. We know who was behind it but he didn't do it so they can't do much with him."

"An LCN?" McGee's eyes widened for a moment as she taped down a bandage, oblivious to his shock. Tony had warned him and Gibbs of his suspicions concerning the gang and here he was hearing about an attempt on a COs life made by a member of La Cosa Nostra.

"La Costa Nostra, yes. Inmate Delicate, Giuseppe. They know it's him, the problem is, he never actually does anything."

McGee nodded, trying to seem only morbidly curious. He needed to talk to Tony, he didn't know where he had been dragged off to but he had to talk to him.

"It's strange," He looked up as she paused for a moment as she stood in thought, a crumbled 4x4 bandage wrapper in her hand, "they said you were attacked by a scram, someone unaffiliated. Doesn't happen much."

McGee felt his stomach drop as he realized what happened. He had seen Tony being dragged away and in the chaos he wasn't sure what it had meant. He had seen the blood and assumed that he was being escorted to the inmate medical wing. He didn't see Tony get hit, one minute he was there the next he was being hauled away. Now he knew why.

They thought Tony had stabbed him. So where was he now and who had actually attacked him?

"A scram, huh?" The nurse searched through a cabinet that held a variety of medications, clicking her tongue as she searched for an ample painkiller.

"Yes, a bold move. He'll have a lot to deal with after the lockdown. The inmates don't appreciate them, not at all. And without protection, well, we'll see."

McGee could feel the panic blossoming in his chest. He forced a smile as she handed him a bottle of antibiotics and pain pills and explained when to take them and what he should do should the wound turn infected.

She ushered him towards the door and McGee thanked her. He was almost out the door when a question came to mind.

"What happened to Officer Wright?"

"He died."

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Gibbs was just in time to meet McGee as he exited the medical wing. The younger agent looked exhausted. His left hand would occasionally come up to his bicep to finger the thick bandage causing him to wince.

He was far from happy with what happened to his two undercover agents. He had one in solitary confinement and another injured from what could have been a fatal attack. He observed McGee for a moment, looking for any signs that he needed to pull the man from the operation; despite his obvious fatigue and fine lines in his forehead that spoke of pain he knew younger agent wouldn't have any of that. McGee had become a formidable and competent agent – Gibbs wasn't worried.

"Officer McGregor." He called, maintaining the man's cover. McGee looked up at the sound of the familiar voice and could have sighed in relief.

"Sir."

"Come with me. We need to discuss this afternoons events."

McGee followed Gibbs to the room that served as there own MTAC and once inside, immediately began to brief his Boss on what he had happened.

"They think Tony did it, Boss." He stood anxiously in front of Gibbs who looked about ready to kill.

"I know, McGee."

"Well, where is he?" Gibbs wanted to wring the Warden's neck just at the mere thought of where Tony was.

"He's in solitary."

"Solitary?" McGee exclaimed, surprised by the answer. He knew the consequences for attacking a guard or for causing a lockdown but he was sure they would have pulled him out after a few hours, "We're leaving him in there?"

"Yep." Gibb's answered, his voice tight and restrained as he pulled a case file from the desk in front of him.

"Boss," McGee decided to move on. Tony was relatively safe for now – if you could call anywhere in prison safe, solitary was it - and he had a lot to discuss with Gibbs, "I need to pull up the case file on an Officer Wright, he was murdered here …"

Gibbs tossed a file labeled 'Wright' into his lap.

"… six months ago…" He picked up the file and began to thumb through it, "Umm, thanks, Boss."

Gibbs nodded and took the file back, putting it back on the desk.

"Later, McGee. You need to rest." McGee shook his head and opened his mouth to protest.

"Boss, I …"

"It wasn't a suggestion, McGee. Take those pills. Get some shut eye." Gibbs headed for the door, his expression dangerous. He stopped for a moment and turned back to the impossibly tired agent.

"McGee, you did good."

With one agent safe he had to have a chat with the Warden.

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Gibbs entered the Warden's office without knocking, much to the other man's chagrin. The two men were far too alike to make this easy; they both had terribly strong personalities, refused to step down and enjoyed their coffee blacker than black.

"What the hell is this about, Agent Gibbs?"

"It's about my Agent in solitary, Warden!" Gibbs stood threateningly over the man seated behind his overly large oak bureau.

"Agent Gibbs, I would think that you of all people would understand the necessity of keeping up appearances in an undercover situation."

Gibbs eyes became flinty and dangerous.

"Well sure, Warden, but I expected him to receive some medical attention before being locked up for twenty four hours."

He knew from McGee and from the scuttlebutt traveling around the prison that a CO had gotten to use his baton quite liberally on the 'escaping convict.' He didn't have to guess who that 'convict' was. In his experience, it was _always_ Tony.

"This is a prison, Agent Gibbs. Unless one of the inmates is seriously injured we prefer to put them in the hole as soon after the incident as possible," the two men eyed each other, the tension in the room building to a near toxic level, "and in experience leaving them to lick their own wounds gives 'em time to think."

As much as Gibbs wanted to fight the Warden on this, he knew it was irrational and that he was right. He couldn't stand to just leave Tony in whatever state he was in in that concrete hell-hole but if they wanted to maintain a cover the younger agent would just have to stick it out.

Didn't mean he had to like it.

"If we do anything that goes against protocol I assure you that my officers will be suspicious."

"I want to see him as soon as he's out, protocol or not." Gibbs pointed a threatening finger at the man. The Warden shook his head but relented when he saw that the Agent before him was unlikely to accept no as an answer.

"Don't forget who's in charge here, Agent Gibbs. This is my prison. If your agent can't handle twenty-four hours on his own then maybe they sent me the wrong team."

"That _agent_ is the best damn agent I've ever worked with. There's no one I trust more than Agent DiNozzo for this job."

The man shook his head. He wasn't so sure; he had seen the strongest men break down after ten hours in the hole. He didn't expect this agent to be much different, the two NCIS agents were hardly two weeks in and already one had been stabbed and the other was in the hole.

"We'll see, Agent Gibbs. Now if we're done here I have a rather large file to compose concerning the mess your two agents got themselves into. If you'll excuse me."

He nodded towards the door.

"Once those twenty-four hours are up, you send him to me." Gibbs left no room for further discussion as he exited the man's lavish office.

He and the Warden would not be getting along.

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Tony eyed the dirty looking tray, his appetite completely nonexistent. It had sat over night and was now laying stagnant in front of the door. He knew he should eat, especially after a night spent staring at the ceiling, but he simply wasn't hungry.

The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon – or at least he though it was, the room was still dark but there was an inkling of warmth that suggested day had come.

He stretched his sore muscles and wondered how long he had left; so much could have happened during the short – or long – amount of time he had been in solitary confinement. It also didn't help that the boredom was starting to become a bit of a nuisance.

It was almost funny, almost hysterical, how boring it was; near maddening. There was nothing to even look at. It was almost worse than the few times he spent tied to a chair as a hostage or spent in a hospital bed.

He couldn't even practice running his mouth, there was no one listening to hear him quote movies or ramble aimlessly. He had to do what he did worst; sit still and shut up.

The complete lack of sleep had also brought the fury of his wounds to the forefront. His left eye was swollen uncomfortably, the scrapes on his face stinging relentlessly. The pain in his nose had migrated into his sinuses giving him a headache of monstrous proportions. He breathed in and gently prodded his face. Except for the nose, nothing else seemed to be broken; just bruised and bloodied. In a moment of vanity he briefly wondered if the damage was permanent and if he should try and fix it himself.

He hissed in pain as he poked the bridge of his nose a little too hard and promptly decided against it as his eyes watered involuntarily.

Tony stood up and paced for a moment before realizing there wasn't even enough room to effectively pace. So, he sat back down, this time on the floor for a change of scenery.

At some point another meal tray had been slipped into his cell, a sloppy looking breakfast that was more unappetizing then the dinner.

He watched the dust float in the beams of sunlight through the tiny window. We watched a cockroach skitter across the wall and then to make things more interesting he picked a loose button off his shirt.

He sat there for what could have been half an hour or seven, it was all the same – think about the case, think about his daddy issues, think about the case, pick lint, think about Ziva's daddy issues, case, daddy issues, and so on – until he heard a raking against his door, the sound of the heavy lock being displaced.

"Stand away from the door, hands on your head."

Tony didn't move, for a moment he was so shocked that his twenty-four were up he just sat there. Then he realized what the impending liberation meant and he hastily got to his feet, his hands on his head as they had ordered.

"Whoo boy, aren't you a sorry sight. Rios got you good." The CO laughed. Tony blinked as the world outside the cell rushed in, uncomfortably bright and loud. The CO roughly cuffed him, clearly sore over his apparent attack on a fellow CO.

"Don't expect anyone to feel sorry, DeMarco. What were you thinking, that's what we wanna know, attacking a newjack as a scram? You just made your life a whole lot harder."

The man continued to laugh at Tony's apparent misfortune while he led him down the corridor into the general population building.

Tony narrowed his eyes as they passed D-Block. So he wasn't being returned to his cell…

"Taking a detour, are we?"

"Oh yeah, you have a meeting with one of the head honchos here, you're in a world of trouble, DeMarco."

Tony snorted.

"What, they gonna throw me in prison?" The man grunted, giving him a light shove, telling him to shut his mouth.

They walked for another few minutes before stopping in front of a large, key-pad protected door. The guard punched in a number and led his prisoner inside, locking him to a chair before nodding to the man seated across from the prisoner and promptly exiting.

"Boss," Tony grinned, "long time no see."

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Thanks for all your lovely reviews everyone. I really appreciate them and they really make me want to write faster – that and that fact that I am still on a break from Grad. School..

I hope ya'll enjoyed this chapter and if you have a moment, a review would be most appreciated. I will not be updating for a week or two as I'm going over to Haiti to work with PIH. Please keep Haiti in your prayers and if you can offer any help, please do so!


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